Harmonia Calendar 715, Thal 21 - Ashspire Estate, Elandor
Morning - Anton's Study
I read the report once, then again.
[The boy's form is strong. His spirit is diligent.]
I set the parchment flat on the blotter and leaned back. The leather groaned as I sank into it. My eyes wandered the room, and memories followed.
This had been Gerard's study once. The same tall window looked down over the courtyard. The same heavy desk, and the same shelf of contracts, their pages carried the faint smell of oil and dust. I could almost see him there, pen steady, words sharp, every judgment quick and precise.
Gerard had been the perfect son.
Then the disease took him. Evelin followed soon after, her strength failed when she gave birth. Two graves in a month, left an infant, and a title to me.
I muttered.
"Duty."
'Raising the child had been exactly that. Not love. Not charity. Duty.'
I drummed a finger on the report.
Tap.
Tap.
Twelve years had passed since that day. The infant had grown into a boy who rose before dawn, who remembered the servant's names, who never asked for more than what was given. Valuable traits for someone else's son.
My thoughts shifted to my own children.
'Favian would inherit. Sixteen, and he understands strength, the value of appearances, and exactly where to apply pressure until people break. He has my eyes, my appetite, and my fire.'
'Lucien…he's talented, more than once have I seen flashes of brilliance in him, but soft. Too soft for fourteen. He still spoke with compassion when silence would have been more effective, and hesitated when decisiveness was needed. He isn't made for the noble scene.'
'And Theodora…'
I reached for the quill, my jaw tight, fingers firm around it.
'She's only twelve, but her path was already decided. She will be a tool to buy alliances. That was how houses rose. That was how they survived.'
I dipped the quill and drew a steady line beneath the report. The words followed in clean strokes.
[Potential present. Keep monitoring him.]
The ink had barely dried when I tugged the bell.
CLING
A knock followed.
"Enter."
The steward stepped inside, head bowed, hands folded behind his back. His reply carried a trace of tension.
"Yes, my lord."
I glanced up, then back down at the stack of papers. My tone was flat.
"We finalize the banquet arrangements today. And have the swordmaster submit weekly reports on Adonis."
The steward bowed.
"At once, my lord."
He turned, pulling the door to a quiet close.
Silence settled again in the study, broken only by the slow tick of the clock.
Tic.
I pushed myself up from the chair, joints cracking. The years left their mark on me, though they didn't soften me. My frame still held, but blond had given way to grey, and my beard carried both. My eyes still burned in a fierce red.
I crossed to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
Below in the courtyard, the boy ran drills with a man in a padded gambeson. Their blades clashed, dull thuds echoed in the yard.
I watched three exchanges before I let the curtain fall.
'Perhaps, the boy won't be useless after all.'
***
Late Morning - Dining Hall
Breakfast began with the quiet scrape of knives against plates and steam rising from fresh bread.
The long cherrywood table had darkened with age, and the lightstones above set the silverware shining.
I sat opposite Theodora and reached for a heel of bread. A faint ink smudge along my thumb from last night's notes was seen.
'Mother will scold that.' I tucked my hand beneath the table, then let my eyes drift toward her.
Mother sat with practiced elegance at the head of the table beside father. Her emerald eyes carried warmth and care, sharp yet soft when they landed on us. Her hazel-brown hair was drawn into a neat braid that swept over one shoulder, and the wool of her ash-grey overdress was lined with fine stitching.
The air around her held a quiet authority, less from command and more from the steady care she carried into every glance, every word.
She lifted the teapot, steam curling from the spout as she poured into Theodora's cup. Her voice was gentle.
"Eat while it's hot."
Theodora stole a berry from my plate, her fingers quick, and a grin flashed as she popped it into her mouth. Her voice came light, teasing.
"You never fight back."
I glanced over at her. She has the same emerald green eyes as mother, though hers shone with mischief. Hazel-brown hair was drawn back by a ribbon, and a green dress trimmed with fine white thread surrounded her petite frame. She was the smallest at the table, but the way she carried herself, bold and playful, gave her a kind of charm that was hard to ignore.
Still more cute than elegant, her childish acts only made that brightness stand out more.
I watched her chew, a spark in her eyes dared me to argue.
'I pick my battles.'
I thought, and tore a piece of bread instead.
The sound of hinges pulled my eyes to the door as it swung open.
Favian stepped inside, a fraction late, precisely the way he liked it. He has the same red eyes as father, though his carried a strange edge. A fitted white tunic cut close to his frame, silver thread stitched along the cuffs and collar, caught the shine of the lightstones above. Short blond hair, slicked back, his smile practiced, polished to charm.
He stood tall as the oldest, and every movement carried the polish of someone trained to be seen.
He stopped opposite the head of the table, posture straight. His bow was aimed across the hall, to Father, not to Mother.
"Father."
Father met his eyes, gave a single measured nod, and let his voice cut through the hall.
"Report."
Favian's smile didn't falter, his voice came soft, almost rehearsed.
"Confirmations from the Marquess of Breyne, Countess Vallis, Lord Halvors, and... Grand Duke Valmontis."
Father's voice carried its usual firmness, but a trace of praise slipped through before he returned to his meal.
"Good work."
Favian stepped back with a satisfied smile and slid into the seat beside me.
I set my fork down, glanced toward father, and spoke softly before silence settled.
"I spoke with the kennel-master. The southern fence is cracked. If winter holds hard, the ground will heave and widen it."
Father didn't look at me, his knife still cutting slices. His voice came firm between bites.
"See it repaired."
I pressed my lips thin, my voice came sharper than I meant, pushing for Father's attention.
"Already arranged."
His hands stopped, red eyes locking onto mine before he gave a single nod.
"Good."
The meal resumed.
'Good? That's all? Favian strolls in late and earns praise. I give answers, and all I ever get is a nod...'
The door opened, pulling me out of my thoughts, and my head turned with the rest.
Adonis came in late, as usual, after drills. His pitch-black hair fell over his forehead, strands hiding light-blue eyes. He was tall for twelve, a black tunic clung to his slim frame, damp and darkened in uneven patches from drills.
He paused at the threshold, straightened his back, and bowed his head. His voice came steady despite the exhaustion.
"Forgive me."
He lifted his head, then stepped inside with quick strides, toward the empty seat beside Theodora, and sat down.
Theodora scrunched her nose, then elbowed him under the table, her voice carried a teasing edge.
"You smell."
Adonis let out a small laugh, leaning closer as though to whisper a secret.
"Better than smelling like your cologne."
Her face flushed red. She shot him a sharp glance, eyes flashing, and drove her elbow into his side again. He winced, stifling a hiss.
I caught myself glancing at him, sweat still clinging to his hair and a smile tugging at his lips.
'The maids liked him because he smiled when he helped them. The stewards liked him because he remembered names.'
'Adonis was easy to like, and that alone was enough for Father to dislike him...'
I set my cup down, leaned slightly his way, and let my voice cut through their banter.
"How's training?"
He looked up from his plate with a broad smile as he rubbed at his side where Theodora's elbow had landed.
"Good."
Theodora rolled her eyes and leaned his way, lips curling into a smirk
"He means he beat the training dummy until his hands bled."
I watched him from the corner of my eye as I lifted a loaf of bread, hiding my smile.
'Hardworking as ever. It's admirable how he never complains, never asks for more. Father, though… Father only saw wasted effort. To him, diligence without ambition was nothing at all.'
Father didn't glance up, his knife slid clean through a slice of ham.
"The swordmaster's report came. Steady progress."
'Just that...no praise.'
Favian leaned back in his chair, lips curling into a sly grin, his eyes flicked toward Adonis before he spoke.
"Progress at twelve is expected."
Theodora countered.
"Not for everyone."
Mother's voice slipped between them, gentle, her eyes fixed on Theodora.
"Theodora."
Theodora straightened at once, her shoulders stiff, gaze dropping to the plate in front of her.
I broke a piece of bread and pushed the basket toward Adonis.
"Eat more. You'll faint in drills."
Adonis accepted with a slight nod, and he grabbed a leaf of bread from the basket.
"Thanks."
Father set his knife down, red eyes looking to Favian. His gaze lingered, carrying the weight of expectation and trust. His voice came firm.
"Tomorrow, you'll receive the Valmontis envoy at the door. Stand straight, show them proper respect."
Favian answered smoothly, a small smile touched his mouth, and his head bowed more confidently than deferentially.
"As always, Father."
Father's gaze turned to me.
"You will handle the guild escorts. No mistakes."
I returned it, a knot tightening in my chest, but I held my voice steady.
"Yes, Father."
Father's eyes slid past me, landing on Adonis. His voice came firmer than with us.
"Adonis. Wash and present yourself when called."
Adonis looked up from his meal. His fork halted, then he set it down.
"Yes, my Lord."
'My Lord...'
The words hung in the air like smoke.
'Father never corrected him.'
Theodora leaned in, smirking, her soft voice slipping through the silence.
"He knows how to stand still."
Father's gaze dropped back to his plate, his voice came even.
"Then he can practice."
I watched the exchange.
Adonis held steady under Father's gaze. The way he kept his shoulders straight, even when tired, his face showed nothing but obedience. How Theodora tried to defuse the conversation with her light banter. Father's response and how Adonis accepted it, as if that was the only way he knew how to exist.
The meal resumed, and silence stretched.
Until father pushed his chair back, the scrape of wood was loud against the stone floor. He rose without a word, and we stood with him. He left with measured steps, and Favian followed after him.
Silence lingered a moment longer, broken only by mother's steps. She circled the table and stopped beside Adonis. One hand came to rest on his shoulder, her green eyes soft as they looked down at him. A proud smile touched her lips.
"You did well yesterday."
Adonis blinked, confused as he looked up.
"Yesterday?"
Mother's fingers lifted, brushing through his damp hair, smoothing it back with care. Her voice was warm.
"I read the report. Good work."
Adonis leaned into her touch, his lips forming a bright smile. Mother gave his shoulder a final squeeze before she slipped away, her steps calm as she left the hall.
Theodora wasted no time. She drew close, hooking her arm with Adonis's and pulling him forward with a grin.
"Come on, prodigy. Show me the new footwork."
His cheeks reddened as he let himself be dragged, his voice stumbled out low, almost shy.
"It's nothing new."
'Here they go again…'
She tugged his arm again, her steps light, almost bouncing. Mischief sparked in her eyes as she pulled him closer, leaning in with a sly smile to whisper.
"Don't you want to impress your big sis?"
Adonis flushed deeper as they stepped into the corridor.
I lingered behind, watching them ahead into the corridor. Then I moved, closing the distance, falling a step behind them.
My pace softened, each step light. A glance to the side caught the glass of the window, and there our reflections waited.
Theodora's brightness. Adonis's obedience. And me...one step behind, watching over them.